


The Hospitality of Hobbits

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An important visitor deserves only the best of everything. My version of the "Bilbo seduces Thorin the first night they meet" trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hospitality of Hobbits

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since AUJ fic tbh.  
> Thanks to alkjira for everything, and also thanks to seaweedredandbrown for helping read through it when I was stuck halfway.

Having made sure his Company were all settled, Thorin made his way through the now-quiet Hobbit den. He’d been directed earlier to where he would sleep. Master Baggins, their host, had assured him several times that it was the ‘best guest room of Bag End’ and ‘only second to the master bedroom’.

 

“Master Oakenshield, I’m afraid I cannot let you be subjected to my second-best room after all.”

 

At this change of heart the Dwarf smiled thinly, turning to Master Baggins, who stood in the doorway Thorin had just passed through. “I have been subjected to far worse on my journeys, I am sure.”

 

“It is Hobbit custom to offer only the best, especially to a guest of such importance.”

 

Thorin started to argue, but abruptly let it go. It was late and they had a long journey on the morrow, following what had been another long journey to and from the council with the other Dwarf clans. It would not be such a hardship to have a more comfortable bed instead of a slightly less comfortable one.

 

“If that is so, I can hardly refuse. Far be it from me to offer such an insult.”

 

“Then follow me.”

 

As it turned out, the best room was directly beside the one first given to Thorin. It would have been considered cluttered if it wasn’t as spacious as it was. A fire was already merrily burning, casting the room in a deep orange glow and a comfortable warmth. The bed looked very inviting. Yes, this did seem like the best room of the den.

 

It took him only seconds to realise that he’d not been left alone. Thorin considered Master Baggins, who stood silently by the door.

 

After a moment, he raised one brow. “It is Hobbit custom to offer oneself, especially to important guests?”

 

“Not always,” was the answer. “And not always mine, either.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I just thought,” the Hobbit said, raising eyes bright in the fire lit room, “that extra comfort would not be turned away.”

 

Thorin was not so experienced in such matters. Leading one’s people and planning for an assault on a dragon did not leave him much time or inclination, but he knew that spilling his seed with the help of another could be an intensely enjoyable experience. The Hobbit was comely enough and willing besides. If they were to be facing dangers and desolation on this quest, then why shouldn’t he take what was freely offered?

 

“Lock the door,” he instructed, because he knew the curiosity of his kin. He did not want to be interrupted or spied on. “Then remove your clothing.”

 

At this point the Hobbit was no longer wearing trousers, only a nightshirt that went past his knees and a patched dressing gown that went over it. It took only a stretch of his arms and a shimmy of his shoulders to be completely undressed, less time than Thorin undoing his belt. The Hobbit – Bilbo, since they were about to bed one another, it would be prudent to refer to him as Bilbo – was soft and plump and rounded, skin brown and smooth save a smattering of hair across his chest and thicker thatches between his legs and atop his feet. His cock was a good size for his body, though smaller than Thorin’s own. He was unashamed in his nakedness, watching Thorin with a sparkle in his eye and a curl to his lips.

 

He was already stirring in his own trousers. A bit of a surprise but… he let his gaze rove over Bilbo’s pleasing form. Perhaps not that much.

 

“Won’t you disrobe as well?” Bilbo asked. Had he not been naked, the question might have seemed innocent. “Only, my plans for the evening do involve a certain amount of participation from yourself and it would be… better if you weren’t wearing anything.”

 

“And what plans are these?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find them pleasing.” He tipped his head to the side. “Your turn now, please.”

 

Laying his belt to the side, Thorin wondered when he took orders from a Hobbit. But was it an order when phrased so nicely? And was it an order when Thorin was more than willing to follow? His overtunic and undershirt followed his belt in short order, followed by his boots placed by them on the floor.

 

“I can spill more than once,” came a sudden announcement, and Thorin fumbled with his lacings. “In case you were wondering.”

 

“I am unsure why you brought it up,” Thorin said finally, after meeting impish eyes. “Though I am intrigued to hear it.”

 

“It’s only that you have a body worth appreciating.” He did not seem to be a stranger to bedplay, but Thorin doubted he’d ever had a Dwarf before. It was plain for anyone to see that he found Thorin’s form to be pleasing even so, despite the clear differences.

 

“You are too kind, Master Hobbit.” Thorin shucked his trousers. Overall he was of a thicker build than Bilbo, with more muscle and more hair. Bilbo’s eyes took all this in with only awe and hunger within them; such an expression was a breath of fresh air after years of dealing with mistrust and fear from other races.

 

He held out a hand. “I speak only the truth.”

 

Allowing Bilbo to draw him towards the bed, Thorin reflected on what exactly he was doing. Why should he deny himself pleasure? He so rarely allowed himself to indulge as it was.

 

The Hobbit settled onto the bed first, sinking against pale-coloured pillows. Bilbo’s legs fell open so willingly that Thorin, after settling over him, couldn’t help but stroke his inner thighs in reward. He repeated the journey of his palms twice, thrice, for no other reason than Bilbo’s skin was the softest thing he’d ever felt, softer than goose down or crushed velvet.

 

Shifting caused his hair to come down over one shoulder like a sheet of water, separating them from one side of the room, spilling onto the pillow and partially along Bilbo’s own shoulder. The Hobbit lifted a hand but made no motion to brush it off, instead reaching up and touching Thorin’s mouth with two fingers.

 

Ignorant as he was, even Thorin knew that wordless request.

 

Bilbo’s lips were as plush as they looked. He sank into them as if drowning in the sea, brushing his mouth over Bilbo’s again and again. He hardly noticed when small hands pressed against his chest and pushed, much less when Bilbo’s mouth opened against his, and so when he pulled back and found himself on his back, he was more than a little surprised. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought.

 

“I told you,” said Bilbo, some triumph colouring his tone, “I have plans.”

 

“And do those plans include you having me, or the converse?”

 

“The latter.” The timbre of his voice dropped a little. “I am well prepared.”

 

Thorin’s eyebrow raised. That likely meant that Bilbo had done so while Thorin and the rest of the Company had been singing – alternatively, given the strenuous way Bilbo had protested the presence of the Dwarves prior to Thorin’s arrival (as he’d been told by Balin), his plan might have consisted merely of a jar of oil and the rest of the night with his hands. But now he had a willing partner in Thorin, and surely that was an improvement. One deserving of a reward.

 

“Before that,” he said, touch returning to Bilbo’s sinful thighs, “will you not have my mouth?”

 

Bilbo’s own dropped open. It was not an unattractive look. “I didn’t think that a King would offer such a thing.”

 

“You’ll find, Master Baggins, that I am full of surprises.” He slipped his hands over Bilbo’s arse and squeezed. “Now come here.”

 

Bilbo didn’t need to be told twice. He balanced himself with knees on either side of Thorin’s chest, gripping the headboard of the bed with one hand and holding the base of his cock steady with the other. At this distance its ruddy hue was more apparent, and it looked bigger than it was; Thorin knew he’d be able to get it down, though it would be a mouthful.

 

When it seemed like Bilbo would move no further – impertinent little…– Thorin leaned forward and gave an unhesitant lick to the head of his cock. Bilbo’s moan was like music, soft and encouraging and enough to have Thorin straining to take as much of him into his mouth as possible.

 

The Hobbit smelled as good as he tasted and Thorin breathed in deep, feeling a tad giddy with pleasure and heady power. It took some manoeuvring but he got one hand on Bilbo’s cock, gently massaging what he could not reach. T’was a good girth, wide enough to have Thorin’s lips stretched but not so much that he couldn’t enjoy himself. He bobbed his head up and down Bilbo’s length, alternating between humming softly and flicking his tongue against the head.

 

“Oh, Thorin, _Thorin_ –”

 

His fist bumped Bilbo’s as they moved; his slick with spit and seed, Bilbo’s with sweat. Thorin let go, reaching down to fondle and tug on Bilbo’s bollocks, listening to the whimper. He looked up.

 

Bilbo was thrusting into the ring of his hand and into Thorin’s mouth both, free hand plucking at his chest. The sight was enticing, _enthralling_. There was a certain shamelessness in the way his head was thrown back and his eyelids fluttered, as if he was trying to filter all his senses into the feel of Thorin’s mouth on him.

 

Endearments and encouragement dripped from his lips, spurring Thorin on. He slipped his fingers between Bilbo’s cheeks, prodding at the already-slick ring there and slipping within with little effort. Bilbo gave a loud groan at that, and a surge of his taste blossomed on Thorin’s tongue.

 

“If you keep up with that I’ll – oh, sweet heavens.” He was levelled with a glare (though it seemed half-hearted at best). “I didn’t prepare myself just for this, you know.”

 

Giving a defiant lick as he pulled back, Thorin said, “I thought you mentioned being able to spill more than once.” He smirked at Bilbo’s thoughtful expression; it was as if Thorin had driven him to distraction enough to forget that titbit. “And I’m rather comfortable like this.”

 

“Far be from me to –” Gasping, interrupted from his mocking, Bilbo broke off. He shifted back more firmly onto Thorin’s fingers, which had spread within him. “Oh, yes, please.”

 

“So polite,” Thorin mused, and very impolitely – or politely? – swallowed Bilbo down again.

 

It didn’t take much longer to coax Bilbo to his crest, partially because Thorin had added a third finger. Bilbo continued to be polite in that he choked out a warning beforehand, but Thorin just hummed around him and urged him to spill down his throat.

 

He really did taste good – sour and yet sweet, not unlike a tomato with the right edge of tartness. Perhaps an unusual comparison, but he had in bed with him a Hobbit, after all. What better to compare him to than to food?

 

It didn’t take long before he had an armful of Hobbit intent on stealing as many kisses as he could. Thorin only allowed this for one moment, as there was a rather more pressing matter to attend to, and it was throbbing between his legs. He showed Bilbo, thrusting up so his cock slid against the silkiness of Bilbo’s thigh.

 

“Oh, do excuse me,” Bilbo said breathlessly, squirming backwards. “My apologies.”

 

“None are needed so long as you do not tarry,” Thorin replied. His voice was strained and sounded deeper even to his ears.

 

“Fear not.” And Bilbo did not tarry. Instead he sank down onto Thorin’s length with little more than a frown of concentration. He did not mean to sound boastful, but surely his cock should have given more trouble than that – but the Hobbit had indeed prepared himself well, as aforementioned, with oil that smelled like safflower.

 

He felt _beautiful_ around Thorin, as if meant to fit there. Thorin looked on in awe as he started little rocking motions with slick sounds, grinding first back and forth before adding height to his movements.

 

Given Thorin’s first impression of Bilbo, he’d never have imagined to be in this position. The Hobbit appeared fussy and entirely unsuited to manual labour. Even now with Bilbo straining and grunting as he lifted and lowered himself, Thorin could not imagine him working out in the fields as he had seen other Hobbits do. Bilbo was one who knew the comforts of home and knew them well. It was no surprise that Bilbo had fainted after mention of the Dragon.

 

“Is there something amiss?” Bilbo had slowed to a stop. “Or is this simply not to your liking?”

 

The snap in his voice evidenced that, despite his soft appearance, the Hobbit had a backbone. “It is my turn to apologise,” Thorin murmured. “As this is very much to my liking. I was lost in thought, is all.”

 

His expression softened into understanding. (Thorin searched for pity and found none. Unusual.) “Then I must work harder to distract you.” He stretched to kiss Thorin again, tasting of pipesmoke (likely from the pipe by the fireplace). His fingers slipped into Thorin’s hair, scratching his scalp gently and raising shivers.

 

This was an intimacy that should not have been allowed but Thorin could not say why he let it slide. So long as Bilbo did not loose his braids, he would not protest. Instead he kissed Bilbo in return, nibbling the plumpest part of his lower lip and listening to the keening it elicited. He fit his hands to Bilbo’s waist to anchor himself; bracing his heels against the mattress was for the same reason. He thrust upwards.

 

All of Bilbo’s breath escaped him in a gust; when Thorin withdrew he had only a moment to gasp in air before it was forced out once again, this time in a low groan.

 

At the force Thorin was using, it wasn’t long before a rhythmic slap of skin-on-skin started up. If the walls were thin, there would be no question as to what was happening. But he could only think of that for a fleeting minute; who could think of anything outside this room when they had such a treasure in their arms?

 

Thorin could not deny the dark pleasure that ran through him at the thought of the Company finding out in this way, and learning that their leader had already staked claim. Not that Thorin was truly staking claim, as Bilbo was most probably looking for pleasure for one night only, but Thorin would prefer it if he was the only one who claimed the would-be burglar.

 

Along the same line of reasoning, he found himself turning his nibblings along Bilbo’s smooth neck.

 

“Ooh, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

 

He obeyed and continued along until he found the join between Bilbo’s neck and shoulder. He set his teeth there with a will, feeling the blood rushing to the surface as heat blooming against his lips. Bilbo responded by letting his forehead thunk against the headboard, low enough that his mouth sank into the pillow, muffling moans that had been steadily increasing in volume.

 

A little disappointing that he would not be treated to that symphony of pleasure, but perhaps Bilbo was wise to stifle himself a tad. It’d be unfair to awaken anyone else; there was no telling when they’d next be able to sleep under a solid roof – to sleep underground, even, because shallow as it was, this Hobbit den was still underground. Thorin could not begrudge his kin their comfort while he was indulging in his own.

 

Bilbo slipped a little in his sweat-damp grip and Thorin tightened his hold, distantly regretting and thrilling in the marks he would leave behind. He kept pushing into the sweet, dark heat of Bilbo’s body with as even thrusts as he could manage.

 

Despite falling into a methodical beat, Thorin was aware enough to feel Bilbo push up against the bed. Perhaps it was for a simple enough reason that he needed to breathe properly, but Thorin worried that this would cause _loud_ ness. Before he could do anything more than meet hazel eyes, Bilbo had swooped down and –

 

Sweet, merciful Mahal –

 

Thorin felt the blunt pressure of teeth just below the apple of his throat. That sharp nip of pain was enough to send him spurting. He clenched his jaw together hard enough that he heard his teeth creak, to spare everyone the mixture of triumph and satisfaction that would no doubt have surfaced. Instead he allowed the barest of grunts escape as he ground in deep as he could.

 

Bilbo was still moving, shakily but determined, thrusting against Thorin’s belly. Thorin would have tried to help but his limbs felt like lead; luckily for him, warm wet spread between their bodies and Bilbo flopped onto him in a boneless heap with a soft hiccup of contentment.

 

Well. There was certainly something to be said of the hospitality of Hobbits. For now, Thorin could find nothing but kind words.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment. Do it. Please?


End file.
